Jan 23, 2019 |
by Molly Jo Realy @MollyJoRealy
Nine Things XANADU Taught Me About Creative Endurance
(or, A Writer’s Review of a 38-Year-Old Movie a Lot of People Don’t Care About Anymore But Should)
~#~
I really don’t know how the topic started. At a marketing conference recently, my new friend Jenn from Mixtus Media mentioned Xanadu. “Do you remember that movie?”
“Remember it?” I gasped. And then explained how just the day before I was rocking out in the elevator to the song “Whenever You’re Away From Me”. I know that’s hard to believe, but it’s a #truestory. [And here’s where I’m betting Beckie’s a little glad she wasn’t on this trip with me. That’s okay, Beckie. You know I still love you!]
Fast-forward to after the conference and some well-discussed Facebook posts and YouTube videos, and now the movie is in my Prime rental library for another two hours.
Shameless Admission:
I’ve already watched it three times.
And, yes.
Yes, I have sung each song out loud, each time.
Loudly.
Because I still know the soundtrack to XANADU by heart.
XANADU got me thinking about my creativity. I know, that’s a really weird thing to write. Because y’all know I’m inspired by sweet tea and Hemingway and O’Connor and peacocks and Van Morrison and frogs and zebras. None of which are in this 1980 roller skating fantasy world (unless you count the disco outfits. But I’d really rather not.).
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Nine Things XANADU Taught Me About Creative Endurance
Anyway . . . Besides reclaiming my youth and the let-it-loose elevator vocals, here are nine things XANADU taught me about being creative. I invite you to join the discussion.
-
- Taking care of business does not mean you’re a creative failure. The movie opens with Sonny Malone (Michael Beck) returning to his job as a studio painter: he enlarges album covers for display in store fronts. He had walked away from this job to pursue his dream of becoming a “real” artist, but it didn’t work out. Once the pressure was on, the creativity was off. But Sonny was always a “real” artist. It was doing it full-time that shook his boots. So he went back to what he knew. Not as a failure (although for a time he thought so). His day job was a safe place where he could continue to hone his skills and bounce creative ideas off his team. (Note: I don’t recommend talking smack to your boss unless you have that sort of banter relationship. Definitely don’t encourage him to fire you unless you’re ready to walk.)
-
- Support comes from many sources. There’s a phrase in the industry: Street Team. These are the people, personal and professional, who believe in you and want to help you succeed. They read your books, leave reviews, attend author events, give encouragement. Think of it as a positive posse. (I call y’all my Swarm, and you can join on Facebook by clicking here: NOLA Swarm.) In XANADU, Sonny’s Swarm starts when he meets Danny McGuire, the clarinet-playing old-timer (Gene Kelly), and then Kira (Olivia Newton-John), one of Zues’s nine daughters, or muses. Each contributes something different to Sonny’s life, but both believe in him even when he doesn’t believe in himself. They swarm to his side, along with his other friends and former coworkers.
-
- Practice makes perfect. Sonny’s dream is to be a renowned artist. So whatever he’s doing, he practices. At work, he gets into trouble by spending too much attention to detail. He takes odd jobs where he can get them. He’s painted walls, vans, canvases. He never stops painting. So even if it’s not how he wants to do it, at least he is doing what he wants. And he keeps at it. He keeps getting better. And, even though he wants us to think he’s given up, he never really does.
-
- Changing directions is not the same as stopping. His budding friendship with Danny and encouragement from Kira influence Sonny to co-own a night-club/disco/roller-skate hall with Danny. Through a lot of hard work, they find the perfect place: an abandoned building Kira likes to find her solace in. Sonny gets to transition his creativity to design the aesthetics of the club. But he doesn’t let it get in the way of his passion for painting.
-
- Don’t discount what you don’t understand. Kira took human form when she and her eight muse-sisters released themselves from a city mural. She knew her mission, and she filled it with great joy: She skated (yes, skated. Hey, the movie was made in 1980, okay?) up to Sonny, gently kissed him, and vanished. Later in the movie, she admits to Sonny she’s not had human feelings before, and this love-thing is messy and painful. Sonny doesn’t believe her, of course. And when she returns to Zeus, it takes a pep talk from Danny for Sonny to go in search of her. He knows he needs her, even if he doesn’t understand where she came from. He finds a way to find her.
-
- Don’t limit yourself to what others say. Sonny’s boss told him to stop being creative. Just do what was expected of him. But Sonny couldn’t do that. He couldn’t color inside the lines all day, every day. Kira awakened that creativity in him again, and he again found the passion to create more than album covers. When Kira left, it would be impossible by earthly standards for him to reach her. But he stopped listening to the laws of nature, and listened instead to his inner self. He always knew he could succeed. And now that he was aware again, he also knew he needed Kira. And he did whatever it took to find her.
-
- Go to the source. But the rules of the gods held Kira with Zeus, and he couldn’t, or wouldn’t, let her go back to earth. I mean, sure, it’s pretty impressive that Sonny didn’t smash into bits when he skated full-force toward the mural of Kira and her sisters. But love doesn’t conquer everything. Sonny plead his case, but had to leave without Kira. Everyone’s hearts were breaking. The point is, Sonny didn’t stop until there was nowhere else to go.
-
- Not seeing is still believing. Sonny was without Kira. He was without his muse, his love. He could still be a creative. He just didn’t want to. What Sonny didn’t know, was that Zeus and his wife, Hera, were having a conversation of their own. They saw the good in Sonny, and how Kira made him better. They saw how being without Sonny made Kira sad. She was no longer capable of being an inspiring muse. And, remembering from long ago (or was it just a few minutes?), what true love is, they gave Kira back to Sonny. Only he just didn’t know it yet.
-
- Change with the times. Okay, can we break for a minute and just talk about the fashion in this movie? And the weird, NuWave neon-clad characters? How did anyone think Gene Kelly in a bright Zoot Suit was an awesome idea, if even for just a moment? My point is, peeps, the visuals would not be the same if the movie was made today. But the message is. Sonny’s dream was to be a painter. Throughout the movie, he achieved that, in different stages. Danny’s dream was to feel needed. He thought he’d missed out on love. But being needed and being loved isn’t only romantic. And Kira? She just wanted to inspire people. In the end, she did so much more than that. And she did it so well, she was given the freedom to stay.
What do you think?
I’d love to hear from you: Leave a comment below and tell me what movies still inspire your creativity.
With a wild soundtrack and some serious no-one-is-looking dance moves,
Happy Creating.
~Molly Jo
Frankly, My Dear . . . Savor the Journey!
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Bohemian Hurricane
Molly Jo is a Southern Belle and known to her friends as the Bohemian Hurricane. She is the author/curator of The Unemployment Cookbook and several eBooks available on Amazon. Her work-in-progress, NOLA, is a full-length location mystery novel set in New Orleans, and the first in her City Series.
Follow her on Facebook, Twitter, Instagram, and Pinterest.
Aug 18, 2017 |
by Molly Jo Realy @RealMojo68
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Five Things Friday
We’ve been doing the Five Things Friday posts for a while now. A start, a stop, a hiccup, but now we’re steady at it. I’ve enjoyed your topic suggestions and comments on these posts.
Recently, someone asked what my five favorite posts on FMD are. Y’all are smart. You already know where this is going. Of course, I could list twenty or possibly a hundred. So choosing my five favorite posts is a bit of a challenge. thankyouverymuchforthesuggestionyouknowwhoyouare.
And I’m betting once I hit “publish” I’m going to think up five other posts that could do justice. Or ten. Or twenty. Or, oh, heck. Just read them all.
But for now, here’s what comes to mind whenever I fondly think of Frankly, My Dear . . . I hope you’ll click through to find why these mean so much to me.
- Life Lessons from Willy Wonka
Willy Wonka: You Have a Better Chance, Because You Want It More.
- My Broken Thumb
Frankly, My Dear . . . : Depression is not a spiritual deficiency.
- Champagne and Supernovas
Frankly, My Dear . . . Effervesce, baby.
- And They Say Getting There is Half the Fun. . .
The Three Writing Amigos. . . and a Photobombing Flight Attendant
- What If We’re Not Drowning?
What If We’re Not Drowning?
Of course, y’all know I couldn’t choose just five. Right? I mean, there were hundreds of posts for me to choose. And can I just say narrowing it down was like the first time I baked those biscuits from Lindsay Reine’s Cookbook. #epicfailure
Having said that, I give you the Honorable Mention:
#EmbraceTheCrazy: Climb the Mountain
Frankly, My Dear . . .: Latch and Climb.
Now it’s your turn: What are some of your favorite posts from around the blogosphere? Are you a blogger? Which ones are you most proud of?
TWEET THIS: Five Things Friday: Frankly, Favorites. @RealMojo68 #franklymydear #amblogging
TWEET THIS: What are some of your favorite blog posts? @RealMojo68 #amblogging
With a full computer and coffee mug,
Happy reading!
~Molly Jo
And Frankly, My Dear . . . That’s all she wrote!
Mar 26, 2014 |
Thanksgiving Table
This is a photo of the first Thanksgiving dinner I ever hosted. It was my first “on my own” holiday. After not completing college and living at home until Dot was nearly four years old, it was time to move out.
It was tough. I was working full-time and being a single parent of a young child had its moments. I often felt like I was failing. The budget rarely balanced. The apartment wasn’t always clean.
But we had love.
Isn’t that what people say? “We may be poor, but we’re rich in love.” That was, and continues to be, true.
I wanted to show off my home skills. And since my brothers couldn’t make it to town for the Big Feast, I let Mom know I wanted to host it.
I didn’t know how I’d manage to afford all this food. I wasn’t sure my time management skills were up to the task. But I prayed. A lot. Alot-alot-alot. And through His blessings and the generosity of others, not to mention several found pennies (and then some!), this entire feast cost me only $0.76.
That’s not a typo. Mom provided two side dishes and dessert. I managed to barter, coupon shop, and was gifted nearly everything else.
But I wanted a candle. Hence the seventy-six cents.
I keep a copy of this photo on my refrigerator. Every time I go into my kitchen and wonder what I will eat, or what I’ll feed Dot, I see this photo. And I’m reminded that He feeds even the smallest sparrows. Sometimes I don’t feel like cooking. Sometimes I don’t think I have enough to cook. You know what? It doesn’t matter. We’ve never gone hungry.
The reason I’m writing this post in March instead of November, is because I recently turned from mourning to dancing. I began to write again. I began to pray differently. I began to trust again. I began to trust Him again. And I began to thank Him.
This past month I started to reorganize my writing. The To-Do’s, the location, the means, the ends. I have a game plan and outlines.
Can you imagine my surprise when I found the feast photo amidst my notes? Especially since the refrigerator copy is still on the refrigerator! How did this extra copy find its way from some unknown storage into the few papers that are held in my new desk drawer?
Writing Sanctuary
I don’t know. I honestly don’t know. I vaguely remember having a second copy tucked into an unused older Bible. But that Bible has been boxed away for years.
And this photo reappeared just when I rediscovered my Writing Muse.
So there’s an intimidating sense of obligation to keep writing. A sense of, “Atta girl!” and “I’m pullin’ for ya!” A definite sense of “Yes, you can do it!” And a huge sense that I’m doing the right thing.
I don’t think Thanksgiving should be relegated to one day or even one month. Thanksgiving isn’t an event. It’s a way of life. It’s the chance to stand up and let the world know you’re glad to be alive.
And I’m definitely glad to be alive. Glad to have the life I have. Glad to be encouraged as a Mom. A daughter. A cook. A writer. And yes, a Christian.
Glad to know I’m not as alone as I sometimes feel.
There’s sense of security when you know your Daddy is there, taking care of you. You might not see Him behind you, but He’s there. You might not hear Him whispering to those around you, but He’s speaking through you. You might not even realize His presence. That’s okay. He’s still there.
And because He is, I am.
And I’m just so very thankful.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
You may also enjoy reading:
Apologetic
A Good Name
Dear God, Did You Forget About Me?!
“Be Not Afraid”. Yes, I’m talking to YOU.
Jul 19, 2013 |
TGIF
There was no doubt that this had to be another TGIF post. Because as I write this, I am so very thankful.
I’ve been blessed to be able to share my Penny Parable with more people than I imagined. I continue to find pennies every day, and I’m so thankful when I do. Some are found at home, some in my car. Some are tiny savings in my checkbook. At the end of the week, 7 cents adds up. And since posting the Parable, I’ve been finding far more than just 7 a week. It makes it worth it: that positive outlook, the hope that even the smallest thing can bring magic and miracles to a day.
Penny, Penny
As I’m teaching myself with my yard work, there has to be a starting point. A beginning. And eventually, little things add up to big things. Or, as my friend Danny likes to quote from Bruce Springsteen, “From small things, Mama, big things one day come.”
My Penny Jar
I have long-range goals and short-term projects. But I’m understanding that nothing gets done until the first step is stepped.
Over a year ago, one of my closest friends was searching for a new job. He’d heard of a few colleagues who were receiving interview after interview after interview… but he wasn’t. He was frustrated. We prayed for him and his family. Dot and I prayed for direction, answers, openings. And God heard us. He said, “Why does he want so many interviews? He only needs one.” Of course, God was right. And shortly thereafter, that one right interview came.
I have many writing projects in the works. I always will. As a writer, I can’t write just one story without formulating more. I’ve never heard of any writer who can. But I have a schedule now, a plan. Each day I focus on one writing task. Mondays I work on my assignments for the Institute of Children’s Literature. On Thursdays, it’s all about The Grenalia Chronicles with Megan. Sundays are when I catch up on my Trekaroo reviews. See? Many projects. But each day, one focus.
Terrace of the Cafe at Night
The most complex recipe begins with one ingredient. All books start with one word. When one day is too long, clocks tick one second at a time. The sun rises one inch at a time.
First Morning
Movies are filmed one frame at a time.
And blessings overflow… one at a time.
This weekend we get to see family we don’t see regularly. My Big Brother and his family are coming to visit. How appropriate that he’s the first-born. I can’t wait to spend time with them all!
Today, I’m thankful for one more second with family. One more penny in my wallet. One more word to write, hug to share, smile to give, moment to just breathe.
One more blessing to count.
Today, I’m thankful. One more time.
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
May 31, 2013 |
Frankly, My Dear… had a facelift. And a tummy tuck. And, well, pretty much a complete chassis overhaul. Inn’t she purtty? From the inner workings to the aesthetic design, I am overwhelmed at the difference between yesterday and today.
While yesterday I had a blog… today I have The Blog. Designed to tie in with the New Inklings Press website, FMD is growing up. I’m amazed at the difference a few subtle and not-so-subtle changes can make.
I’d love to say I had the help of a great web designer, but the truth is, I made a few suggestions and he ran with it. What you see is his doing. Completely. You’ve heard the expression, “Newer isn’t always better!”? That may be true for things like one-size-fits-all vitamins and synthetics vs. organics… but don’t you believe it about The Blog! Frankly, My Dear… has stepped out of the woods and into the light!
First Morning
I thought I might miss a few things about the old version. The formatting. The photo banner. The many categories and sub-categories and sub-sub-categories. Guess what…
I was wrong!
I don’t miss those things. At all. I see now how chaotic the design was; how distracting and at times either overwhelming or just “ehh…”
But now. Now it’s New. And I couldn’t be happier.
I just needed to get out of my own way and hand the reins over to One Who Knows and let him work his web magic. And I just had to give him a Great Shout Out for all his hard work!
I’d tried designing the Blog myself. I did my research. I viewed other blogs and websites. But I’m a writer. Not a designer. I had no idea how to code this or format that. I know words. This coding thing… yeah. I’m about as efficient as a fish holding a baseball bat.
But my designer. He gets it. He gets me. He gets design. As I live for the words, he lives for the codes. And Frankly, My Dear… we wouldn’t be here without him.
And now all things are new again.
Field of Dreams
I’m rediscovering my honest love for writing. Not just because it’s what I do. Not just because it’s who I am. Yes, it is and it is. But it’s also what I love. More than anything. And I can’t imagine ever doing anything else.
I received a wonderful email from a friend just this afternoon:
“I know how hard it is to will anything into existence (well, will and a lot of work)! … You have so much going on – just keep doing what you’re doing.”
And so I shall. Because I can’t not be surrounded by words.
When I was in 8th grade, I was in the School-Wide Spelling Bee. Yes, I was one of those students. Teachers called me “Quiet”. Teachers called me “Sweet”. And teachers called me “Smart”.
From a very young age, I knew that Words would be my Life. One way or another, no matter what else I did, writing would always be a part of me. And that meant knowing how to spell.
I was pathetically shy back then. I couldn’t look anyone in the eye unless my family was with me, and even then, notsomuch. That’s why I loved books. I could be a daring cliff-diver or a humble seamstress. I learned to ride horses, fly airplanes. I built the first campfire and knew how to time-travel. I did it all. Through books.
When I was in 8th grade, my English teacher didn’t like me. This was new territory for me. I mean, he really didn’t like me. He lived down the street. And he would make a point of stopping at our house, unannounced, and often on breaks or mini-holidays, to complain how poorly my brother and I were doing in our classes. Considering we both studied hard and received A’s and B’s in nearly every class but his… Considering he bent the rules for other students but not for us… Considering he tried to rummage through my purse before class even began… well, you get the picture. He just really didn’t like me.
And in 8th grade, he was one of the monitors for the School-Wide Spelling Bee. We were down to the Finals. There were ten students left. We lined up against the blackboards and one by one were tasked with correctly spelling out those words from a list that contained four-syllable combinations and homonyms and other great wordsmithing. It was my Personal Nirvana.
When my turn came, it was my English teacher from 7th grade who presented my word. She smiled widely as I spelled it out correctly. At least she liked me and wasn’t afraid to show it.
After nearly another round, I was four places down the line when The One Who Hated Me took the reins. “I’m going to do something a little different,” he said, looking hard at the list. His eyes lit darkly when he found what he was looking for. He looked at me and smirked. “I want to skip ahead to Molly.” The other teachers were puzzled. Was this in the rules? Can he do this? It seemed wrong. It seemed… personal.
I stood tall as he spoke. “Spell… ” and he gave me my word. I met his gaze. He had the satisfied look of one who has beaten another, that sneer of arrogance and pride.
I held his gaze without blinking. As I felt the injustice and anger rise inside me, I clenched my fists and through a delightfully fake smile I began to spell my word. “A-P-P…” I stopped to swallow, and gather my wits. I was meant for this. And I will not lose in spite of him.
I began again.
“A-P-P-R-E-C-I-A-T-I-V-E-L-Y.”
As I casually looked away, betraying the pounding in my heart and head, I caught the glimpse of The Good Teacher. I saw her smile affirmingly at me. A smile of “Atta girl!” and a glance toward him that warned he’d better not try that again. In another round, I was one of the Finalists. And he was Finished.
That’s a memory I used to want to forget. How someone, an authority figure, could without cause bring havoc and turmoil to a student’s life just for the sheer enjoyment he received from doing so… the world is often unbalanced and this was my first real taste. The shame and confusion he laid at my feet for me to pick up and carry with me throughout my student life and into early adulthood… Did I deserve this? Did I present myself in someway that he felt he had to bring me down to size? What was it that I did to make him try to fail me in class and in life?
And yet… it was that word. That word. One of the hardest word on our 8th grade Spelling Bee list. And I’m the one who got it right. That’s what I need to remember more. That even though he tried to pull me down, I fought back. I climbed. I succeeded.
Today, I’m very thankful for struggles. It’s so true that character is borne of hard times. I’m so very appreciative of those who have come alongside me and encouraged me, and yes, even challenged me. I’m thankful that my parents taught me to be gentle even in the midst of adversity. And I’m thankful for endurance.
“There are far, far better things ahead
than anything we leave behind.”
~C.S. Lewis
I’m aware of those pinnacle moments in life when I could have chosen a different path. I could have walked away from Words. I could have let The One Who Hated Me cause me to stumble but instead I chose to climb over the boundaries he set for me.
I learned that day that it’s not what others think I can do. It’s what’s inside that makes me who I am. The day of the 8th grade Spelling Bee cemented in my innermost being that I belong with Words. They are my children, my nightmares, my joys, my soulmates.
“I write for the same reason I breathe:
Because if I didn’t, I would die.”
~Isaac Asimov
I’m thankful for the barriers that have been placed for my protection. I’m thankful for the boundaries I can stretch. And I’m thankful that I know how to jump hurdles when necessary.
“Don’t Fence Me In.”
~Gene Autry
Expand Your Horizons
And Frankly, My Dear… that’s all she wrote!
